Repairs
by Ice Queen1
Summary: Steve brings by an old war buddy to meet the team. Except...apparently Bucky and Tony already know of one another. Non slash, emotional whump and Bucky/Steve feels. Mentions of PTSD and torture.


This came about while I was considering the fact that few people seem to realize Bucky was likely behind the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark, given the events in Winter Soldier. A lot of fics out there don't really have that moment of realization, when Bucky recalls that he's murdered someone he considered a friend, or when Tony realizes Steve's best friend is the reason he's an orphan. This was written rather quickly on a quirky new computer that has a tendency to move the mouse on me and start typing places I don't want it to, so if there's errors, I apologize.

Read and review! Tell what you think!

* * *

"If home is where the heart is

Then we're all just fucked

I can't remember

I can't remember

And I want it so bad

I'd shoot the sunshine into my veins

I can't remember

The good old days"

- "27" by Fall Out Boy

* * *

The war was never over for my father. A lot of people seem to forget that Howard Stark was in fact an active participant in World War II. Worked on the Manhattan Project. Supplied the Howling Commandos with all their toys. Reverse engineered what they brought back from Hydra. He was a hero. I remember that much. Unfortunately, that's about all I remember of him.

When he actually spoke to me, he never spoke to me like I was a child. He talked to me the same as he would any other adult on one of his projects. I'm not sure if he just wasn't a kid person (I know the feeling) or if he understood what so few others did – I was brilliant. I like to think it's probably a combination of the two.

I remember my mother with the same sense of vagueness – I don't remember being all that emotionally attached to them. In fairness, I wasn't that old when they died, and my father spent most of his time in a board room, the lab, or apparently looking for his old war buddy, Mr. Stars and Stripes himself and founding SHIELD. That last one I'm still on the fence about. My father wasn't that fond of corporations that weren't his own, and even less so of shadowy organizations with too many letters in their acronyms. I find it hard to believe he founded one of the worst ones I could think of.

Color me paranoid, but after the Cave, Obi, the government in general, and Rhodey, I wasn't all that surprised that SHIELD turned out to be a front for HYDRA.

Call me an ass, but I was actually secretly pleased about the fact that I was _right_. SHIELD was up to no good. Or at least, the controlling interest part of it. And of course, I knew Fury was a dick, but faking his death? That's low.

All of this pales in comparison to this moment.

The moment when Steve brings back an old war buddy.

An old war buddy that is the same age Steve is…and looks younger than me.

One with haunted eyes, a tendency to look away from everyone's face, and stands almost half a step behind Steve, like he's afraid we might do something to him.

I'd seen that look. I knew it well. I had it for months after the Cave. After New York. No one saw it except for me and on few occasions, Pepper and Rhodey.

Before Steve even launched into explanations, I could already imagine what made a friend of Steve's react like that. Especially an _old_ friend – one who likely knew him as 'Skinny Steve' rather than Captain America. You had to be beaten pretty low for that Steve to seem like a suitable shield. And this guy really doesn't look like he would need defending. He's braced for an explosion, hands in his pockets but loose enough that he can pull them out in an instant to fight. Long, dark brown hair is pulled messily back in a ponytail and underneath his ball cap, he looks like he hasn't smiled in years, and like he's expecting this introduction to the team to end badly for everyone.

And we weren't even the scary ones. Natasha and Clint were gone on a side mission trying to oust the last of the HYDRA sleeper agents, Thor was on Asgard with his girlfriend, and neither Bruce nor I were wearing our 'battle dress'. Bruce looked like an overstressed professor, wearing two sets of glasses – one on his face and one on his head – and I didn't think I looked all that bad. I didn't even have my reactor anymore, and as much as I hate to admit it, I was the smallest, most non-threatening person in the room.

"Guys, this is Bucky Barnes," Steve said, almost shyly. That itself is kind of funny, since Steve's not shy about his past. He gets quiet and somber some times, but more often he's been taking on a rather morbid humor about the fact that everyone he knows is dead or dying from old age. Speaking of which…Bucky's name sparks an instant recognition in both Bruce and I as we share looks.

_The_ Bucky Barnes? Steve's best friend from childhood? The one who was supposedly killed during a mission falling from a train? _That_ Bucky Barnes? The name is ridiculous and seems unlikely there were two of them that shared best friend status with Steve.

Bruce reacts first. "Nice to meet you. We've heard a lot about you."

And we have – Bucky was his best friend growing up in Brooklyn, who watched out for him when he was all of seventy pounds with a list of health concerns that made you wonder how he lived long enough to get the serum. Every story about stupid, reckless youth had Bucky in it…as well as the story of the one friend he couldn't save.

Bucky's eyes widen for a moment, shooting an accusatory glance at Steve.

"You are my best friend, Buck. You think I wouldn't talk about you to new ones?" Steve said, and Bucky calms down. Slightly.

"Hi." It's all he says, his eyes looking around the shop like it's about to eat him.

"There's nothing that's going to get you in here," I said, waving absently around the lab. "We're not that kind of mad scientists."

Bucky looks somewhat reassured even as Bruce and Steve give me _that_ look, and I'm a little unsettled I accurately guessed his concern was _where_ we were, not _who_ we were.

It stands to reason – long should-be-dead buddy shows up, looking like he's been beaten to hell and back more than his fair share, and is still the same age as the genetically enhanced super soldier? Yeah, I'm guessing the poor kid has spent a lot of time in places like this, and probably had nothing good come of it.

Personally, I'm a little surprised I still find comfort down here.

"Buck, this is Dr. Banner," Steve says, nodding at Bruce who instantly corrects him to his first name.

"And this is Tony Stark, Howard's son," he says, his voice noticeably quieter than when he introduced Bruce. I'm not sure if it's out of respect for the dead, or because I hate that I'm always known as 'Howard's son' to Steve over 'Tony.' And it's still a little creepy that a 21 year old was friends with my dad when he was younger than I am now.

Wibbly wobbly, timey wimey.

I hold my hand out to Bucky, mostly out of curiosity and I'm surprised when he hesitantly takes it, though his grip is firm.

And then he freezes, his eyes glazing over as his grip tightens almost painfully around my hand and starts reciting like he's reading from a teleprompter. "Howard and Maria Stark. Car accident. Long Island Sound, 1991. Cut brakes, steering compromised. Hit by placed drivers on either side of intersection to insure death on impact as believable accident. Confirmed kill."

At first, I'm too stunned to speak, but it doesn't last long. "What the _fuck_ was that? What did you just say?" I glance at Steve and I realize he's not shocked. Or even a little surprised. He looks like Bucky just confirmed something he already knew. "What are you talking about? Rogers?"

Suddenly Bucky snaps back from wherever the hell he just went to, and tries to pull his hand away from mine. When it doesn't work, he reaches up with his other hand.

One made of metal.

And in one blinding moment of clarity, I realize that _this_ is my parents' murderer. I scrubbed every scrap of intel I could glean from SHIELD during the New York fiasco with Loki, and I found reports of my parents' death, alluding to some sort of shadow assassin no one could prove existed being the instrument of their destruction, referred to as the Winter Soldier. Grainy pictures followed, and all you could see was long-ish hair, everything from his forehead down obstructed by something a Batman villain would wear…and a silver, metal arm.

My vision washed out in red.

Next thing I knew, I was on my knees, held back by an immovable force that was surprisingly gentle even as I pulled against it.

"Tony! STOP!" Bruce was shouting at me, and his voice, rarely above a soothing evenness unless the Other Guy is out, in my ear is enough to make the red disappear.

I'm breathing hard and my left hand stings. I don't know why until I look up and see Bucky and Steve on the ground, the former bent almost in half, his face pressed almost into his knees as both hands grasp the side of his head like he's trying to crush his own skull. There's no _way_ I hit him that hard. Steve looks like he wants to grab him, much in the same way Bruce grabbed me, but looks afraid to touch him. His hands hover uselessly and unsure over Bucky's shoulder.

As quickly as my anger surged, it's now gone. Bruce keeps his hands on my shoulders more as reassurance than restraint as we sit in stunned silence.

Steve is talking to Bucky, frantic and patient at the same time. "Come on, Buck. It's just me. You're fine. You're okay. Just breathe." A litany of soothing platitudes is never ending, and I watch as Bucky's rocking slows and abruptly stops.

I'm almost relieved, until I realize that Steve is still on high alert – the danger hasn't passed. A moment later I find out why, and I have about an eighth of a second to realize I'm about to die.

Bucky's head turns towards me, and where I once saw apprehension and a prey's desire for flight, a cold, harsh, _angry_ predator glares back. It's not Bucky looking at me. It's the Winter Soldier, and all trace of Bucky is gone. And then he lunges towards me, strong enough to shove Steve aside with that metal arm of his like he's nothing more than an insect. There's no yelling, or even growling, just cold, shark like eyes and all emotion gone from his face.

I'd seen death a hundred times.

Probably more.

It never had a face before.

I wanted to shut my eyes, but I couldn't, and in the next instant, I was really, _really_ glad that I was friends with Bruce…_and_ the Other Guy.

As Bucky lunged towards me, metal hand outstretched towards my neck that he could snap like a twig, he's stopped inches from me. Bruce's hand, a swirling shade of poisonous green, skin moving and blood bubbling as he fought to control the Hulk while still using his strength, grips his arm at the wrist just in front of my face.

"**_Don't. Make. Me. Angry,_**" Bruce snarled, his voice combining with his alter ego's to create a horrific grinding noise mixed with human rage.

Bucky doesn't back down, and as much as I don't want to, I have to appreciate the tenacity. Just like I had to respect Loki for asking after the drink when he was slammed into the ground by the Hulk like a ragdoll. His lip curls up in a snarl of defiance, and I hear a crack and snap, like gears and metal grinding together as Bruce crushes the metal hand. Bucky's hand goes limp and there's a sharp bark of pain and surprise before I see the hate leech out of his eyes.

The Winter Soldier is gone and Bucky is back. Bucky's eyes widen in a mixture of shock, pain, and much more prominently, confusion, guilt and regret. He pulls his arm back in to his chest, cradling it protectively against himself.

I don't remember being able to read anybody that well, but when I look at Bucky's face…it's like it's written right in front of me, clear as words on a page.

Steve has got his arm around Bucky's shoulders and slowly eases him back with careful patience that speaks volumes about how many times he's had to do this before. I still can't find it in myself to move, but I can hear the deep, measured breaths Bruce takes as he forces the Hulk back down. The poisonous green fades from his skin, and I can just imagine the look of moderate pride that he's succeeded in controlling the Other Guy.

He's getting pretty good at it. I like to think I helped with that.

"Don't worry about it, Buck. We've been over this, right? It's just instinct, okay? You didn't mean it. Tony's fine, you're fine…" Steve's placating litany is back, and I don't know if it works on Bucky, but it's beginning to work on me.

"Why can't I remember…just _one_ good thing?" Bucky whispers, his thousand yard stare fixed somewhere no one else can see. "Just _once_ couldn't I remember something…decent? Why can't I remember Howard at the expo, instead of through the lens of a rifle?"

"We'll work on it, I promise," Steve says, and he says it so matter of factly, so 'of course we'll fix everything and it'll be like you were never broken' that it makes Bucky's eyes snap back to his. When Steve Rogers promises something, mountains will move. I can see Bucky _wants_ to believe. Badly. But I can see just as plainly the doubt that he'll be anything remotely close to human ever again.

I realize, in that moment, I am looking at what I would've become if it hadn't been for Yinsen, or the suit. If I hadn't escaped on my own, and if no one had ever found me…I would've been just as broken.

This was the man that murdered my parents.

He was the reason I was an orphan when I was twenty one.

He was responsible for countless deaths over a seventy year killing spree.

And yet…

When I looked at him, I couldn't find it in me to hate him. I saw the way that he and Steve looked at one another. Steve saw in Bucky the man who went to war for him. Who watched after him when he found himself alone. The one friend he couldn't save back then.

_Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky_.

Bucky was a soldier. A soldier that had no choice in his actions, and judging by the haunted look of self-loathing in his eyes, deeply regretted them. I couldn't be any angrier with him than I could be at myself for the events that led up the creation of Iron Man and the deaths it caused.

But…you can't change the past. I know this better than most.

I pat Bruce's hand reassuringly before I sit forwards, moving slower than necessary, holding out my hand.

"Let me see," I say, gesturing towards the ruined metal arm.

Steve looks more hopeful than a little kid holding a free to a good home puppy he found in a box in an alley, and I try not to roll my eyes. I keep my hand out, patiently waiting.

Bucky looks dubious, and he shoots a questioning glance at Steve, who nods encouragingly.

"Tony is a hundred times better at this than Howard. I think he's probably made hundreds of Iron Man suits now."

I smile brilliantly at the compliment, trying to show Bucky no harm, no foul. "I can make this thing look _way_ better."

Bucky glances down at his metal arm, crushed in the shape of fingers around the wrist. "Can you…" he licks his lips, the first real sign of nervousness I've seen since he walked in the lab. "Can you get rid of it?"

I frown, but shrug anyway. "Sure. If that's what you want. But I can also just replace it with something that looks…like you." I'd been about to say human, but realized that was a horrible word choice. "I bet you don't really want to run around with just one arm, right? Prosthetics have come a long way, and that thing is archaic. Hell, I had pretty much a prosthetic heart until recently. Give me a day, and I'll have you back to your old self. Mostly, anyway. Speaking of which, I doubt you've seen many movies lately. I should get you to watch this awesome kids' movie about a kid and his dragon. I think you'd appreciate the comparison."

I hold my hand out again, expectantly and tried to ignore the cautious glimpse of hope in Bucky's eyes. I can imagine he's had very few people tell him he's had a choice in anything in the last seventy years. If there was hope for me, there was hope for him.

"Come on. Let's see what I'm working with here."

Slowly, carefully, Bucky held his hand out, and I can hear the grind of nerves as the prosthetic tries to move his fingers and compensate for the shift in position.

Definitely needs replacing.

I wait until he's put his hand in mine before I start examining it. For being a fossil, it was rather impressive. I needed to do some more digging around in the stolen files from the helicarrier to see if I could find anything on how it was made. I carefully move it, twisting it this way and that way to see the range of motion he had and where I could improve it.

"I wonder if I can make you and Steve into a matching set and give you a set of stars and stripes your own. The star of communism has got to go." I made sure to look Bucky in the eyes before my next words.

"Come on, buddy. Let's get you fixed up."

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So. Did everyone sound realistic? How did you envision it going? Leave a review and let me know! I LOVE hearing how people imagine things in head canon.


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